On My Own, I'm Not Magnificent
by HisWarrior
Summary: He looked to himself when times got bad. He looked to his own strength. It was then that he lost it. It was then that he lost his magnificence.


**On My Own, I'm Not Magnificent**

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_"I can do this,"_ he told himself. _"I can handle this."_

It was what he told himself as he cried in bed at night. It was what he told himself when he saw grass greener than emeralds, or a sky bluer than sapphires. It was what he said in his head when the others would remember and his heart would give a great wrench.

_"It'll be okay," _he said._ "It will all be over soon. It won't hurt as much."_

But instead, it hurt even more. Each and every passing day felt longer and heavier to Peter's heart. He couldn't keep this up. The pain was too great. If something didn't happen soon, he was going to drown in his sorrow.

Why had Aslan let them know Narnia if all he was going to do was take it away from then again?

This thought led to his sorrow turn into a blazing inferno of anger. Aslan had no right to do this to them. He had no right to take them away from the land that they loved and the people they had fought for.

And Peter's anger grew. One year later, he had lost his magnificence. One year later, he forgot how to be a king.

He tried to be strong on his own.

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His head was swimming with the anger the day that it happened. He walked towards the platform, looking for a place to sit down. He felt someone bump his shoulder. He paid no attention to it, but kept walking away.

"Hey Pevensie!"

Peter knew that he should keep going, but he didn't. He turned to face the voice. It was Harold Banse, the school's renowned punching machine.

"I think that you should apologize to someone when you hit them," he continued.

Peter remained stone silent. He could feel his anger boiling, and he let it control him. It silenced the voice within him telling him that this was wrong.

"Didn't you hear me Pevensie?" Harold jeered. "I said apologize."

"Make me," Peter sneered. Without another thought, he quickly covered the distance between them and punched Harold in the face. He felt two bodies throw him to the ground, but he didn't care. He fought back, and it felt good. He released his pent up anger at the three of them, not caring that they hit him back, not acknowledging the fact that a group of people had surrounded them, shouting at them. All he focused on was hitting his fists as hard as he could at Harold and his buddies.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edmund enter the fight. Over the shouting and punching, he heard whistles. He felt someone pull Harold off of him, and he turned around to keep fighting. A soldier pulled him back.

"Act your age!" he shouted.

Peter half thought about shouting back, then his eyes found Susan and Lucy. Susan looked annoyed. He knew that a lecture was coming from her. But Lucy was looking at him with sadly, and he thought that he saw a single tear graze down her cheek.

For one second, he felt bad about what he had done. But his anger was too strong now. It quickly quenched his guilt, and he sat in an angry and exhausted heap beside his siblings.

"Your welcome," Edmund grunted, massaging his knuckles.

"I had it sorted," Peter growled.

**00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

If one feeling could quench his anger, it was his excitement. It was with great excitement that he pushed open the hidden door. It was with thrill that he finally touched his sword, Rhindon. And it was with great anticipation that he listened to Trumpkin's story and began to lead the group to the Shuddering Wood.

But it did not last long. In less than a day, he once again felt his anger come back in full force. A feeling that he once embraced, he now tried to subdue it, to make it settle down, to push it away from him.

He was back home. Why should he be mad now?

And it was his anger that answered.

_"Aslan is just using you again,"_ it told him said. _"He'll never let you stay. As soon as you are done with whatever it is he wants you here for, he'll throw you away once again. You'll go back to your own world, and he will abandon you again."_

The anger won the argument, and Peter went on once more with a cloud over his head and a storm in his face.

The High King had returned home, but not in his magnificence, and not really as a king.

And he tried to make it on his own.

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He lay awake for many hours that night, trying to understand, trying to believe. Somewhere deep in his heart, he had wanted to believe his sister.

_"Why didn't I see him?"_ He had asked.

_"Maybe you weren't looking,"_ she had replied.

And now, in the middle of the night, he now looked into his heart, searching for what Lucy said wasn't there.

He thought back on the past year. All he had wanted to do was come back to Narnia. And finally, he had come back. After a year of pain and sorrow and anger, he had finally made it home. Why did it not quite feel like home? He loved being back, but something was wrong.

He then thought of Aslan.

He had wanted so badly to see Aslan at one point. He had even looked for a flash of gold everywhere, just to try and see if he was there. When Aslan hadn't shown up, he had given up, embracing his anger and sorrow as best friends.

Why had he given up on Aslan so much sooner than he had given up on Narnia?

He quickly quenched that thought and turned over to a more comfortable position. He already knew his answer.

Aslan had given up on them, so he had decided to give up on Aslan. And that was that.

And again, he walked ahead on his own.

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He did not remember when he had last cried this much. And to be honest, he didn't really care. All that he knew was half of their army was dead, and it was all his fault.

With regret, he remembered blaming Caspian for what had happened. His pain had been climbing over his anger, and his anger wouldn't have that. Without really knowing what he was saying, he had pointed his finger at Caspian.

It wasn't that he didn't like Caspian. The young prince was strong and courageous, and had the mind of a true king of Narnia. But Peter didn't want to give it up. He didn't want Caspian to become King of Narnia. That was who Peter was. Wasn't it?

With a sudden shock, he thought of his behavior in the past year. He hadn't really been acting like a king. Was this Aslan's punishment? Bringing him back only to put another king on the throne?

In a sort of daze, he went down to the Stone Table. The bodies of the hag and werwolf had been taken away, and the last remains of the Witch's wand had been burned in the fire.

A shiver rushed down his spine. He had wanted so badly at that moment to set her free, and it haunted him. This woman had nearly killed his brother and himself. Why would he want to set her free?

Without hesitation, he answered himself.

_"You wanted revenge on Aslan."_

He had wanted Aslan to remember what he had done, what he had gone through. He had wanted Aslan to regret ever taking him away from Narnia, for ever thinking that he was okay with what Aslan had done to him.

With another stab of regret, he sat down upon the Stone Table, looking up at the stone image of the Great Lion.

Edmund had stabbed the image, and had looked at him with such anger that Peter was frightend.

_"I know. You had it sorted."_

Edmund's anger looked like it was a fire in his eyes. Was that how Peter had looked all this past year? Ready to bite the head off of the first person that spoke to him?

Peter's eyes searched the lion. What was going on? Why was he here? Why had Aslan taken him away? What did he want him for now?

"What have you done to me?" he finally said aloud. He would have shouted, but he couldn't get past the rock in his throat.

He felt the smallest of breezes fly past his head, and he turned around. There was no one there, but his eyes found something that he had not seen before. Near the corner of the Stone Table was a dark area.

Peter walked forward and rubbed his hand against it. He knew what it was. It was dried blood.

Memories and feelings came rushing back to him like an ocean wave. Edmund being brought back from the Witch, challenging Jadis in the camp, Aslan dying for Edmund on the Stone Table, the writing upon the Table.

_When a willing victim who has committed no treachery, is killed in a traitor's stead, the Stone Table will crack, and even death itself would turn backwards._

He was the traitor. In his heart, he had betrayed Aslan, betrayed his family. He bent his head and wept upon the Table.

It wasn't Aslan that had enslaved him and threw him away. That was himself. Peter had made a slave of himself by giving into his sorrow, pain, and anger. Peter had thrown away the gifts that Aslan had given him and had become someone that no one even recognized.

"Forgive me Aslan," he whispered. "Please forgive me for my thoughts and my betrayal. Please help me to be strong once again. Please Aslan. I know that I don't even deserve to be asking you this, but please help me. I'm tired of being sad and angry. I'm tired of trying to keep this up on my own."

Suddenly, a feeling of peace came over him that he had not felt in a long time. He straightened up and held his head up high. It was time to make things right. And this time, he would have Aslan on his side.

The High King had become a king again. But magnificence was yet to come.

**00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

He gasped as Caspian pulled his shield off.

"I think its dislocated," he managed to say through his pain.

Edmund walked over and began feeling around his arm.

"What do you think happens back home if you die here?"

Edmund looked at him with wide eyes.

"You know, you've always been there. And I've never... Aah!"

Edmund pulled his arm at that exact moment.

"Save it for later," Edmund whispered.

Peter didn't know if there was going to be a later. He needed to tell Edmund now.

But, from the depths of his heart, a voice said;

_"Courage."_

One word was all it said, but it was the one word that Peter needed to hear.

He fought Miraz. He won. With his sword raised, he gazed down upon the tyrant.

He wanted to kill him. He so desperately wanted this man to suffer the way that he had made the Narnians suffer.

He raised his sword to kill. Then hesitated.

"What is it boy?" Miraz taunted. "Too cowardly to take a life?"

_"No," _Peter thought_. "I'm not!"_

He readied his muscles and started the kill.

_"Wait!" _a voice yelled inside of him. _"Are you like him?"_

The question was so simple, so blatant, that Peter stopped.

_"No," _he answered_. "I'm not."_

He put down the sword and looked Miraz in the eye.

"Your life is not mine to take."

And Peter felt something grow inside of him that had been long hidden in the dark for too long. He felt it burst within him, filling him with its powerful strength.

_"Well done, my son."_

And magnificence returned to the High King.

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End file.
